


I Could Have Made Him Scream

by SisterAmell



Series: The Virgin Prince [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Embarrassment, F/M, Masturbation, Other, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-27
Updated: 2015-03-27
Packaged: 2018-03-19 20:16:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3622848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SisterAmell/pseuds/SisterAmell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After catching sight of the Lady Cousland bathing earlier in the day, Alistair struggles with his desires and attempts to find some relief away from the camp.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Could Have Made Him Scream

 

Alistair didn't usually expect to wake from a terrifying Archdemon dream to find his trousers filled with a hot, throbbing erection. Call him crazy, but a demonic dragon setting him on fire really wasn't his idea of a good time. He rolled over quickly, facing away from his sleeping companions. The crackle of the camp fire was loud at his back, and the heat was uncomfortable in his current state of arousal. For a few moments he lay there wondering what in Andraste's name was wrong with him. But then the images from earlier that evening rose into his mind and he remembered what he had been dreaming about before the Archdemon had showed up to ruin his fun.

Breasts. Not just any breasts; Alexandra Cousland's smooth, white, perfect breasts. The divine orbs that he had caught a glimpse of just a few hours ago. Streaked with water, glistening in the dusk light, bouncing slightly with the sway of her body, her rose nipples peaked from the cool stream. The memory of that sight poured into Alistair's mind and body like warm honey. He bit his lip, curling into a fetal position upon his sleeping bag. And it wasn't just the top half of her that was burned into his memory – he had been given a long, unobstructed look at the female Warden's back and hips. The water had been so clear that he'd been able to see the curve of her backside beneath the surface. He had dreamt that he was standing behind her in that stream, pressing up against her, with his manhood squeezed between her full buttocks. He wasn't sure if that was normal or not – maybe he was some kind of a pervert – but he could not free himself from the tantalising fantasy. He wondered how it would feel...

 _Oh, Maker..._ Alistair stifled a groan. He was painfully hard now. To think that Alexandra was just a few feet away from him, sleeping, breathing softly as her bosom rose and fell... He did not dare look over at her. Despite the danger of someone being awake in the camp and noticing his movement, Alistair slipped a hand down inside his trousers and touched himself. A shaky sigh escaped his lips.

Alexandra Cousland made him crazy. He felt sick to his stomach every waking moment, disinterested in food, unable to focus. Over the past few weeks he'd been so tense that his neck and shoulders ached. When she was near, he could not think straight. When she spoke, he watched her delicate lips and imagined them pressed against his own. Sometimes she would smile at him for no apparent reason and Alistair would feel the colour creep into his cheeks. Even when she stood over her fallen enemies, drenched in blood and sweat, her every inch obscured by steel, the sight of her made him weak in the knees.

His cock twitched as he stroked it beneath the fabric of his clothing. Alistair felt a bud of precum coat the tip. Grimacing in the flickering light of the fire, he drew his knees up higher and attempted to disguise what he was doing. It was little comfort that Morrigan was camped at a distance; the sneaky witch could probably see as far as a hawk. Besides, Leliana was close enough to the fire to catch him if he continued like this, and that would be almost as bad. He exhaled in frustration. He desperately needed some kind of release, but didn't think he could proceed unnoticed. He had no choice but to sneak away from camp.

Climbing carefully to his feet, the young Warden adjusted his trousers and ambled away from his sleeping companions. By the time he had reached the guard post where Zevran was on watch, his erection was reduced just enough to be concealed. He kept a hand in front of his groin as he approached the Antivan assassin and forced himself to look casual.

“You must be tired, Zevran,” he said in what he hoped was a normal voice. “I'd be happy to take over if you want to get some rest.”

The golden-skinned elf glanced up from where he sat, perched on a tree stump with his knees up to his chest. “Truly?” he inquired. “To what do I owe this random act of kindness?”

“Nothing. No reason at all. I, um, couldn't sleep and I thought: 'Hey, why don't I relieve Zev from his post and make myself useful?'”

At the use of his nickname, Zevran's eyebrow arched. His almond eyes scanned Alistair's flushed visage. “My friend, if you are in need of some privacy, you have only to say so.”

“Privacy?” Alistair chuckled nervously. “Why would I need some privacy? I'm just... I'm awake, that's all.”

“Or perhaps it is some... _companionship_ that you need?” Zevran purred.

The Prince's eyes went wide. “What? No!”

“Because I could-”

“ _No!_ ”

“Are you cert-”

“STOP.” Alistair passed an exasperated hand over his face and sighed. “Maker's breath...”

Smirking at the brief fun he had enjoyed at Alistair's expense, Zevran took mercy on the poor boy. He slipped down from his perch. “Very well,” he said with a nod. “I shall leave you to your guard duty. How very kind of you to have thought of me, my friend.”

He walked away with an infuriating grin on his face, leaving the Warden alone with his embarrassment. Alistair was significantly less aroused at this point, however his unspent testicles were still tight and heavy, begging for release. He sidled around to an obscured area of the trees and seated himself on a fallen trunk. If he was going to do this, he needed to recapture that intoxicating fantasy that had so completely stirred his lusts. He freed the laces at the front of his breeches in preparation and slotted a hand inside.

Alexandra. The shimmering woodland stream. Her skin alight with crystal droplets, running down the curves of her naked body. That smoky brown hair – so often pinned up out of sight, but this time draping over her shoulders like a cloak of satin. She was no longer alone in the water. Alistair was waist-deep behind her, running his hands greedily up and down her sides. He closed his eyes and imagined the smooth, wet touch of her skin. Cool air washed over his cock as he lifted it from its confines and he shivered. His mind raced to add more detail to his illusion, eager to make it as real as possible. He palmed his own length with both hands in an attempt to create the sensation of being nudged against Alexandra's backside, but it was unconvincing.

Grunting with frustration and need, Alistair curled his fingers around his shaft and began to stroke up and down. Heat was climbing his thighs, swelling in his loins. His fantasy changed; Alexandra lay upon the bank of the stream, dripping wet, her breasts heaving with laboured breaths. He knelt over her. She was gazing at him with those autumn eyes, hair languishing freely around her like a lion's mane, and her mouth curved in a smile. The Prince crawled between her legs and lowered himself, slowly, until his flesh was pressed upon hers. He swallowed back a moan. Maker, how he wanted this to be real! Having no prior experience with which to compare, he could only guess at how it would feel – if he was honest, guess at how it would work, too. He didn't know what secrets hid between her milky thighs, but he knew one thing for certain: he wanted them to open for him. His throbbing manhood told him that it longed to possess her.

As he pumped himself with a rigid fist, Alistair remembered something that he'd heard during his time with the Wardens. A worldly and well-travelled lot, they had been prone to bawdy talk around the dinner table. One particular discussion about pleasuring the opposite sex had sparked Alistair's interest. Though the bashful Prince had remained very quiet throughout the exchange, he had taken mental notes of any details that might have practical use for him someday. The Wardens had boasted of their conquests, the number of times they could bring a woman to “climax” in one session of lovemaking, and the methods used. Alistair had been surprised to learn that using one's tongue was an extremely efficient way to cause pleasure for her. Penetrating her with a curling tongue, suckling on the “nub” at the tip of her mound, and lapping at her sensitive outer lips seemed to be favourites. Alistair imagined trying such acts on Alexandra and he felt dizzy. What would she taste like? What new expressions would he see on her beautiful face, or sounds would he hear while he pleasured her?

He choked in the back of his dry throat, trying to remain quiet but growing more and more frantic. His biceps flexed and grew as the muscles worked, the movement of his hand just a blur between his throbbing thighs. Heat gathered within him like the tide dragging away from the shore in preparation for a great wave. His breaths came hard and fast, jaw grinding, eyes rolled back, and his hips began to tremble.

“Maker, yes...” Alistair panted to the night. “Oh, come on... Yes... Yes!”

He dropped to his knees on the forest floor and increased his pace. The foreskin of his cock burned with the friction, but he could not stop to soothe it lest he lose the momentum. Supporting himself on one shaky arm, he knelt behind the tree and jerked his length violently. His body was juddering with the beginnings of orgasm, his balls screaming in warning.

“Alexandra...” he hissed through clenched teeth.

Her name upon his tongue sent bolts of lightning through his erection. He closed his eyes and conjured her naked form in his mind. He imagined crawling over her and seizing her from behind. His arms slipped around her waist and found her bouncing breasts, fingers squeezing their fullness while he thrust into her over and over again. His length dragged and pumped so ferociously that he was losing control of his own movements. He faltered, coming to the edge of the precipice and tumbling headlong into the sea of fire.

“A-alexandra! Ah! Oh, Maker... _Ohh_...”

Alistair spurted hotly over the crumpled leaves. His body convulsed at the release, bucking helplessly into his hand and releasing more cum. He exhaled a long, shuddering sigh. On his hand and knees on the dirty ground, he stroked his sensitive cock to a state of near-numbness, his head drooping weakly and his eyelids fluttering. His sticky fingers slowed and finally stopped.

Beyond the trees, not far from the camp fire, Zevran Arainai sat shaking his head. Sounds of the Prince's exertions had carried just far enough for the mischievous elf to overhear. Clicking his tongue in disappointment, Zevran muttered to himself:

“I could have made him scream _much_ louder...”

 


End file.
